


Morii (n.)

by peterpan_in_neverland



Series: have you ever felt things beyond the human language? [8]
Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Surprise! - Freeform, birthday fic, happy birthday via!, its so hard for me to write thirst from male pov, so much kajdfhiauhfe, this is like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29655078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpan_in_neverland/pseuds/peterpan_in_neverland
Summary: He expects her to frown, to shake her head and look away like he is a fluke, like this moment is a once in a lifetime occurrence, like winning the lottery or buying a mansion and to never speak of it again. But she does not move, does not stop looking at him like she is looking at the ocean past the cliffs, does not stop smiling like he has brought the sunrise with him.--OR; The order of things about Devi that Ben falls in love with (Ben's POV of Agnosthesia (n.))
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Series: have you ever felt things beyond the human language? [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778254
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Morii (n.)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fantasize](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasize/gifts).



> First of all: HAPPY BIRTHDAY VIA! I am so glad I know you, and I <3 you endlessly. I hope you have a WONDERFUL day and that you enjoy this fic.
> 
> This is short and sweet and is Ben's point of view on Agnosthesia, an equally short and sweet fic, and honestly, I have been wanting to write this for forever. Via's birthday is the perfect occasion :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_ i. her eyes _

Ben cannot make himself hate her eyes.

He tries for ten years, makes his own connect with hers and tries to summon up rage, tries to gather the kind of despisement and hatred that he sees behind her eyes, and every time he fails. Because there is something about her eyes, something about looking at them, something about watching them move and trying to decode where her pupils begin and her irises end and he could get lost in them, diving head first into the eyes that hate him.

Ben rarely sees the romanticization of brown eyes anywhere but inside of his own head. The love of blue eyes is pervasive and he sees them looking back at him in the mirror, but there is something in Devi’s eyes that he does not see in his own. Looking at Devi’s eyes feels like coming home, like sheets fresh out of the dryer, like sugar cookies. 

She looks at him like she would set him on fire if she could, like she would lay waste to him and his love of her eyes and he would welcome it for his own peace of mind, would welcome it to be rid of the inexplicable warmth of looking into her eyes. 

He can almost feel her eyes boring into the back of his neck because his skin is flushing red and the hair on his arms is standing on end, and it is confirmed when Mr. Shapiro asks Devi a question, because he turns around and she is staring right at him.

She is staring right at him looking content and-and comfortable, a small smile in the corner of her mouth, and she snaps back into herself, coffee ground daydream eyes widening, and she pulls herself together long enough to answer Mr. Shapiro’s question—Ben did not even hear it—and he feels himself smile when she finishes speaking. A high blush rises in her cheeks.

He locks eyes with her and his axis tilts and his heart expands and when she smiles, he does too, and the fire she has been trying to light against his skin goes out.

_ ii. her smile _

Ben feels a blush start in his chest and everything in him screams  _ run, run away, she can see directly through your skin  _ but he cannot do it, cannot make himself back away from the look in her eyes and when his eyes float down to her smile, it locks. Her smile lights his body up like a Christmas tree and he grabs onto the feeling, wrapping his hands around it and holding tight. 

He expects her to frown, to shake her head and look away like he is a fluke, like this moment is a once in a lifetime occurrence, like winning the lottery or buying a mansion and to never speak of it again. But she does not move, does not stop looking at him like she is looking at the ocean past the cliffs, does not stop smiling like he has brought the sunrise with him.

He is trying to catalogue it, trying to grasp it in a locked-away thought forever when the bell rings like an electric shock throughout his entire body. 

He shoulders his bag and ducks out the door and his body collides with hers. 

She looks blank, without fight, and Ben says through a smile, “That was impressive, David, that you're able to remember all of that with such a tiny brain,” because kindness does not come easy between them.

She looks at him with half-baked malice, eyes locking on his smile, before she scoffs and walks away, catching him in the shoulder. 

He tries to catch her eye in their next class and misses, looking at her hands instead, and discovering that Devi is an artist.

_ iii. her hands _

She is sketching out a silhouette in the margins of her chemistry notes, stark lines and precise angles, and Ben's entire body feels tense as an arrow-notched bow. She taps her eraser against her desk and Ben blows out a breath, tearing his eyes away from her, and twirling a pencil around his fingers, staring down at his assignment, anything to distract from her hands.

It hits him in his palms, of all places, the undeniable wanting for her skinny fingers to tangle in his hair and smooth along his jaw and trace down his arms, a desire that makes the hair on his arms stand up and he fills in the answers to the biology assignment shakily.

He stops to crack his knuckles, and Devi gasps in the space behind him, and when he turns to look at her, her fingers are braced against her jawline.

_ iv. her jawline _

She lets her fingers trace along the negative space of her jaw as she fills in the answers of her Chinese homework, carefully sketching characters in the same way she sketches silhouettes. 

Once he has noticed the careful line of her jaw, he cannot stop noticing. 

The way she props her hand against it, the angle it forms when she tilts her head up to look him in the eye, and there is something about looking back on the memories now that makes his entire world feel narrowed down to Devi, narrowed down to the time and the role she has played in his life.

It is with great impulse that he stops her as she leaves the classroom, catching her arm before she can completely exit, spinning her around and

_ eyes and smile and hands and jaw and— _

_ v. her _

“Are you okay?” he asks, without thinking about it, without really knowing why he says it, because she is looking at him with her mouth parted and her body leaning into his at a dangerous angle and all he can think about is her lips.

“I’m fine,” she says, with a shake in her voice that says  _ liar,  _ and pulls away from him. 

She makes it a quarter of the way down the hallway before his impulsive sense of decision flickers back to life and he shouts, “Let me drive you home,” and it is not a question.

She falters, rocking on the spot, and turns around, scanning him up and down like she is looking for a challenge.

“I live ten minutes away,” she finally says.

“I want to drive you home, Devi,” he tells her, trying sincerity on for size.

She looks at him like he is something to be reverently feared, to respect from a distance, and he braces himself for you,  _ no, what are you, crazy?  _ but instead she surprises him.

“Okay.”

They walk silently.

He wants to say something, wants to cut the silence with a remark or Snapple fact, but every kind of thought withers when he looks at her, and when he brushes the back of his hand against hers, she jumps like he has shocked her.

He unlocks his car and they sit in silence, a small and bottled up moment where he watches her as she picks at her cuticles and he wants-wishes-dreams he could say something to cure this. Instead, he puts the keys in the ignition and backs out of the parking lot.

He drives as singularly focused as possible, and when he stops in front of her house, he expects her to jump out and disappear from his life all over again. But, instead, she takes a breath that makes Ben’s own lungs hurt.

“Why… did you want to drive me home?” she asks, locking her gaze into his and setting her jaw, making him want to tilt forward and press his lips there, see what kind of sound she makes when he does.

There is the opportunity to run from this, to choose to back away, offer the basics and lie. But he has never lied to Devi—not when they were children, not when she asks him the hard questions—and he is not going to start now. 

“You seemed like you were having a weird day,” he says, skipping over all the details and the nuance, “I just… wanted to make sure you got home alright.”

She looks at him like a door swinging open and tilts forward, and there is a moment where he realizes that she is going to kiss him, and his body feels like it is filled with a sunrise.

She slots her hands against his jaw and tilts her head and opens her mouth against his lips and he groans, his entire body starting, fingers slipping into her hair and tangling there.

_ This is going to change everything,  _ he thinks, helping as she rushes to undo her seatbelt, scrambling over the console and into his lap,  _ and I hope it does.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading! If you enjoyed, leave a kudos, and if you really enjoyed then leave a comment because they make my cat respect me. And wish Via a happy birthday! Thank you so much again <3


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